Gutterbrit Blues
by cats-laughing
Summary: Fifth chapter up! some drug references, language, and other unpleasentness. Can a street rat like Spaz really be a bonafide witch? A story of magic and poverty.
1. A face

Note: I do not own Harry Potter or anything book-related; J.K. Rowling does. 

Spaz, Razzle, Troy, Scarface, and Sexton are mine.

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A face, framed by two pink-dyed strands of dead-straight hair peered out of the grungy windowpane high above the teeming London sidewalk. The rest of her hair was black, and cropped close to her head, long legs crooked as she knelt below the window on a dirty mattress, gazing at the rooftop across the road. 

Her name was Spaz, and she was eleven years old. An odd moniker, to be sure, but it was her name. She would discover shortly that, in the wizarding world, odd names were quite commonplace. Taking a look at her current situation, it was quite understandable how she had gotten this dubbing. 

Right now, she was living in a squat with five teenaged heroin addicts and a twenty-something, male punker. 

You see, Spaz had been abandoned at the age of five in a park. There, she had been picked up by a rather addled teenage girl who'd lost her own child, and brought to a similar squat and accepted into the fold of the chronically homeless, when her saviour had overdosed two years later. 

She had learned how to read and write, do basic mathematics from the better educated of her brethren, and she had learned everything from how to steal cars to the fine arts of panhandling from those less fortunate.

The six she lived with now were named Scarface, Sexton, Ringer, Troy and Razzledazzle. Scarface had been blinded by the blade of a vengeful lover, years before. Sexton had contracted HIV from a bad needle, they had not seen him for a week. Ringer liked to make jewelry out of the bones of small animals he killed and ate. Troy was the most beautiful of them, even though his angelic body wasted quickly from the drugs he consumed. Razzledazzle, the eldest, was named because, once, the others said they had seen him shoot a big, silver rabbit out of a stick.

But none of that mattered now, Spaz was preoccupied with the large brown owl that had alighted on the windowsill, and was staring at her with its big yellow eyes. Ever so slowly, it raised a single talon and tapped on the glass. The bloody thing wanted to come in. It had an envelope in the other claw, so, she deduced that it must be here for someone else in the building. Her fellow squatters often used carrier pigeons, but owls? That was new. 

She struggled to get the window open, grunting with exertion, one sleeve of the oversized checkered blouse she wore sliding off her shoulder. The bird just watched her.

Finally, she wrested the window open, letting a breath of cold air into the small, dirty apartment as well as the predatory bird. She scooted back then, and picked up a year-old magazine she had already read a thousand times, allowing the bird room to make its delivery to someone else in the abandoned building.

It was, apparently, not interested in the others, however, for it dropped the heavy parchment envelope in the preteens lap, and promptly flew back out of the open window. 

Spaz gaped at her present, standing and shutting the window once again as she regarded the emerald ink on the front of the envelope. SPAZ, it read, bearing no last name –she had none, to the best of her knowledge– and her address. Not even Spaz knew exactly where she lived! 

The girl was too delighted to be getting mail to think too much of its origins, and held the envelope above her head as she tore out of the room, grinning and calling the name of the eldest squatter, and her dearest friend "Raz! Raz!" So that all the world would know that Spaz had gotten a very special letter.


	2. I'm lookiting!

"Lookitlookitllookitlookitlookit!" Sounded the raucous, high-pitched cry of the preteen Spaz as she tore into the study' of Razzledazzle, bare feet pounding on the bare, wooden floorboards of the decrepit, candlelit space. Razzle, the poor thing, was too startled and ultimately frightened by her initial appearance to see the envelope she clutched. "Lookit!" Spaz added, beaming, for good measure as she plopped the treasured piece of mail on Razzles makeshift desk.

"Bleedin' Christ, gel. Ye'll give me an effin' eart attack" grumbled the elder as he picked up the envelope, peering closely at it.

Razzle was on the short side, with a shaved head and the crap pierced out of his amiable face. He was also homeless. Spaz was, as well, but her predicament was more by choice than anything. 

Raz snorted, turning the envelope over and over again in his scarred hands, studying the old-fashioned waxed seal on the back of it intently. 

"Well, that's a doozy." He muttered, lost in thought. Apparently, he recognized something about this letter. "Well, open it, then, Spazzy." A bit of apprehension crept into his usually bouncy voice, and Spaz snatched the letter back, eagerly tearing into it. Inside the envelope was a letter informing her that she'd been accepted to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and wizardry, a list of what she'd need throughout the year, and a train ticket. 

Her smile turned into a frown as she read the acceptance letter. "What's this bollocks?" she asked, of no one in particular "Some kind of bleeding joke?" For eleven, she sure had a rather extensive vocabulary. Razzle had picked up the materials list from the floor, and heaved a rather heavy sigh as he read through it.

"It's true, gel. Ye're a bleedin' witch, it seems, or ye will be when the folks at ogwarts are through wit' ye."

Spaz furrowed her brow, perplexed, and she crossed her arms over her chest "You're kidding me, right? I mean, you've got to be! There's no such thing as magic!"

Razzle stood up, patting her on the back and tucking the materials list into an inner pocket of his ratty leather jacket, leaving the other things on the desk. "We'll see about that. Now c'mon, we've got some shopping to do. I'll introduce you to some people that'll change yer mind bout the ole magic thing."

Spaz hesitated, but followed the taller male out the door after a bit, still snarking at him as they descended the first of many rotting staircases to the door "Shopping, are you mad? We've got absolutely no money!"

"Trust me, love, we don' need money." Came the rather vague reply of Razzle as he stepped off the staircase to the concrete floor, and moved swiftly out the door into an alley, holding the portal open for Spaz "Ye comin'?" he asked, grinning rather madly.


	3. Hush, child!

Of course Spaz had followed her best mate, bitching all the way across London about how magic simply could not exist. Razzle had stayed silent through all of her rantings, a quiet smirk playing across his round features. 

Walking wasn't a burden to the two, for they'd been doing it all their lives. Street folk simply couldn't afford to take the subway, much less buy a car or even a bicycle.

As the pair crossed the Thames it was only customary for Spaz to lean over the protective rail and spit into the murky brown water far below. Razzle, however, apparently didn't have time for that. 

"None o' tha' bollocks, now, dear'eart we go' pressin' business, ye know." Asserted Raz, enveloping the preteens slender wrist in one fist and dragging her along, despite her rather loud and persistent complaints.

It was half past four in the afternoon (having left at eleven o'clock in the A.M.) when they finally reached their destination; a rather seedy-looking place dubbed The Leaky Cauldron. This run-down building seemed to stir up memories for Razzle, for something of a dreamy expression flicker across his face as he gazed upward at the filthy sign decreeing the locations name. Spaz crossed her arms over her chest, scowling heatedly.

"This is it, then?" She asked, rather sarcastically "Where they do magic? Or where you get pissed out of your bleedin' mind?" 

This brought forth a glare from her companion. 

"Spaz," He chided, tone more paternal than ever the girl had heard him "be decent. They don' tolera'e tha' kin' o' language from th' students." He glared down at her somewhat sternly, and Spaz seemed to shrink a little bit, seeming more like a child than ever. She nodded meekly and shuffled after Raz into the darkness of the tavern.

Inside it was like any other dive she'd ever been to, burn-marked tables, dim lights, every kind of cheap liquor one could possibly hope for. Well, supposedly. Spaz would've been rudely awakened, had she the chance to read the labels on the oddly shaped bottles behind the bar.

What she did notice, however, were the clientele, who all seemed to be dressed in odd, colourful robes. She wrinkled her nose, looking up toward Razzle.

"Oh! I get it, now!" She grinned, extricating her wrist from Razzles grasp to clap her hands excitedly "It's, like, a Ren faire, then, right?" she asked, looking at a pair of rather hideous women seated at the bar, deep in conversation.

Raz chuckled, starting to usher her along again 

"No' qui'e, lass." He said vaguely as he tipped his bald head in greeting to the bartender.

"Then what IS it?!" asked Spaz, exasperated, but expecting no real answer as her shooed her out the wooden, squeaky-hinged back door. 

Raz shushed her as he pulled a long, thin wooden stick for within the confines of his leather jacket. Scowling, Spaz watched as he tapped several bricks on the back wall with the tip of said instrument, and, before her eyes, a portal to another world was opened in the wall.


	4. The Alleys

Spaz, herself unaccustomed to random portals opening in seemingly solid brick walls, freaked out.

True to her name, an unearthly screech erupted from the preteen, causing all those within ten feet to turn and look. The screeching continued as she attempted to bolt back through the Leaky Cauldron and into the safe streets she knew, but, alas, Razzledazzle was having none of this. Keeping a firm grip on her wrist, despite her best efforts, her tugged her ever closer, until the larger male was holding the struggling child to his barrel chest, hunched over in an attempt at keeping her still.

He failed at keeping her motionless, but the screams eventually died down into a pitiful whining mewl as she watched the colorful people now milling around in what she'd soon know as Diagon Alley, having forgotten about her and Razzle already.

"Ye done?" Asked Raz, breathing a bit heavily from having to keep his young charge still. Spaz nodded grudgingly, scowling heatedly.

"This is mad, Raz." She whined, clearly disbelieving the evidence right before her clear violet eyes. "It just don't make no sense!" She declared desperately as Razzle tugged her through the opening.

"Lots o' things don' make sense ere, Spaz." He stated firmly, continuing to tug her reluctantly forward, glancing up and down the people and beast-filled street. Several people turned and looked, perhaps frowning at their shabby attire or in awe of just how much metal Razzle had managed to shove into his face. Perhaps they were just friendly. Either way, Spaz didn't notice, she was too busy snarking at Raz, who just would NOT let go of her.

"So where the foosh are we anyway?" asked the preteen, still scowling.

"Diagon Alley." He grunted, giving a great heave on her wrist.

"What, like the angle?"

"No! Diagon. Period. Alley. Period."

"Well that makes no sense!"

"Again wit' th' makin' sense! T'ain't much ere tha' DOES make sense, Love, best get used to it. We're not in London anymore!" Crowed the male, tugging her down a rather dank and dreary off turn of the main drag, marked by a crooked bronze sign that read Knockturn Alley'

"So where in farking hell are we going NOW?" Asked Spaz, glancing around the molding darkened corridor, which they traveled down now with a certain amount of unease.

"Knockturn Alley." Affirmed Razzle, nodding as he continued to drag her along "Would you PLEASE pick up the pace, Spaz? We aven' go' all day." 

"Fark off!" The preteen fairly screeched as she tugged her wrist out of Raz' grasp. "Fine. Now what are we doin'?"

"We," began Razzle "'ave some things t'sell. Still go' tha' mouse Sexton go' fo' ye las' ex-mas?"

"Yeh, why?"

"'Cause that's one o' th' things we're gonna be sellin' off, mate."

"No farkin' way!"

"I'm 'fraid so, Spazzy. Now look alive!"


	5. Battle of wills

Look alive? Raz must've out of his mind at this point to be making such a demand.

"You're out of your head if you think I'm selling any of my pretties." Stated Spaz the preteen, scowling and setting her feet wide apart, crossing her arms over her chest stubbornly. "That mouse was a gift, and I ain't givin' it up to some barmy magical pawn-shop bloke." The item she spoke of was exactly what they were referring to, a common brown mouse floating in a miniature glass jar filled with formaldehyde. That mouse, as well as a stillborn rabbit fetus, a stolen switchblade, and several pieces of animal-bone jewelry that Ringer had made for her were the only things that Spaz carried on her person at all times. 

Razzle stood his ground, as well "Spaz, we need some effing money, or else ye're gonna be the laughin'stock of ogwarts!" He frowned down at her, clearly disapproving of her childish behavior. Alas, spaz did not, by any means, let up. And so ensued the staring contest and battle of wills.

After about ten minutes of standing in the middle of the alley and looking pissed at each other, people began peering at the pair from behind darkened windows, mossy, leering faces grinning out at them as if willing the adult to up and smack this eleven-year-old girl. Noticing this, Razzle turned his back on her, conceding the battle. 

"Fine." He grunted, motioning for her to follow. "C'mon, we're drawin' th' wrong kind o' crowd, now." Spaz grinned smugly as she trotted after her companion, then glanced back to the disappointed-looking old woman in the window, shuddering with a very new breed of disgust.

"So, you've got stuff to pawn, then?" she asked, brow raised, still smirking widely.

"Yeh." Assented Raz gruffly as he ducked into a doorway set deep in the alley wall.

Spaz followed him, a bit miffed that he'd tried to stiff her for her stuff when he had his things to pawn. Well, she'd won out in the end, so what did it matter? She nodded decisively after this conclusion was formulated, and she left it at that.

Well, maybe she wouldn't have, if she had not been distracted by all of the gleaming, leering, wicked sharp and altogether terribly evil-looking items that were crammed onto every available surface. She reached out to touch a big, gaudy silver cross set on a velvet pillow atop a dusty cabinet.

"Don't touch!" Snapped Raz, glowering, and she snatched her hand back abashedly.

"Sorry, man." She muttered in apology as Razzle wended his way between two chests of drawers, and out of sight.

She stuck her remarkably long, pink tongue out after him, and turned her attention back to the merchandise, all of which looked entirely too enticing to the eleven-year-old.

But again, she was distracted, as a father and son with matching white-blonde hair walked into the shop.


	6. The Malfoys

Now, Spaz would have been fine with the pair, except for the fact that, not only were they both blonde, but they both looked royally pissed. At her. This was a bad combination, to say the least.

They'd come in, hushed conversation stopping abruptly at the sight of the preteen. A rather disgusted sneer wended its way across the older males pale face.

"What," he began "Is a creature like _you_ doing in a place like this?" He asked, voice positively dripping with contempt and disdain.

Well, Spaz the eleven-year-old glared right back. 

"Who shoved that stick up _your_ arse?" She shot back, imitating his drawling sneer.

"How dare you speak to me that way!" Fumed the elder, looking quite affronted. "Do you even know who you are speaking to?"

"Better yet," Retorted Spaz "do I care?"

At this, the teenaged male stepped in. His hair was quite a bit shorter, though still just as blonde and what it lacked in length, in made up for in greasiness. And his nose was pointy. Spaz hated nothing more than overly pointed noses.

"That's Luscius Malfoy you're talking to, mudblood, he could have you expelled from Hogwarts." He sneered gloatingly. 

"Stuff it, you barmy little pansy!" Spaz declared, wrinkling her nose and crossing her arms over her budding chest, insolent frown upon her face. 

And the cavalry arrives. Standing between two mahogany bookcases, having viewed the little exchange, was a very slack-jawed, pale faced, wide-eyed Razzle.

"Gor blimey" he squeaked, looking from the two Malfoys, the younger of whom was looking very angry and drawing his wand at Spaz' insult "Young mister Malfoy!" Raz exclaimed, thinking on his feet. "Ye mus' excuse my daugh'er, she's fallen victim to a new muggle virus. Sometimes ye jus' canna tell how these things will affec' the wizard's mind, y'know." This was all said in a somewhat subordinate and apologetic tone, as if he owed this man his submission. 

"You know this wanker?" Asked Spaz, turning toward her companion as he strode over to stand beside her. "And wha—Agh!" But her statement was abruptly cut off by a rather painful pinch on the back, administered by Razzle. 

"I'm truly sorry, mister Malfoy. Now, we'll be ge'in' ou' o yer way now."

Malfoy looked at Razzledazzle with, if possible, more unbridled revulsion that he'd given to Spaz. 

"You" he sneered, eyes blazing "You made my life a living hell"

Spaz could practically feel Razzle wince.

"Ermright, I was opin' ye'd ferget about that" he muttered under his breath. Raz brought a hand up to stroke his bald head ponderously before he spoke again "Truce?"

"I'll be long dead before I ever let this mudblood whelp of yours into the same building again with my son!" Malfoy practically shouted, "Come, Draco. We've some business with the minister of magic." With that, he turned, but not before Spaz got her last word in could he leave.

"Bolshy great yarbles to thee and thine, Wanker!" she fumed at his back. And Luscius Malfoy abruptly stopped, and turned slowly and deliberately.

He drew back his hand and struck the eleven-year-old girl sharply across the face, sending her crashing, with a yelp, into a cabinet. He then raised his eyes from her stunned figure to Razzle's face, as if daring him to do anything.

Razzle did nothing, and the Malfoys, smug grins upon their thin faces, left them alone in the shop.


End file.
